House of Voldemort
by roomfortoo
Summary: In the house of Voldemort, one must be cautious about how they present themselves, for the consequences of their actions may be deadly. Five part story. Rated M for violence, torture, and murder, but it's nothing too gruesome.
1. Narcissa Malfoy

Narcissa Malfoy

 _"One must never interfere with the Dark Lord's punishments"_

Spring had settled upon most of Central Europe, accompanied by the budding flowers of Fairy Slippers, Snowdrops, Goldenrods... Narcissa Malfoy listed the endless varieties of flowers silently to herself as she followed her husband through the long corridor of the Dark Lord's manor. One hand held his as the other rested on top of her stomach, swollen with six months of pregnancy.

"When will we plant our garden?" She asked curiously.

"What?" Lucius asked in returned, looking at her sharply over his shoulder as if to warn her against asking such silly questions while in the presence of Voldemort, even though they had yet to see the powerful wizard himself.

A horrid scream echoed off the walls of the thin hallway, stopping the young couple in their tracks. Lucius held Narcissa's hand tighter and the woman closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before she opened them again. Each feeding off of the comfort of the presence of the other, they continued on towards the source of the wails. _Yarrow, Snapdragon, Aubrieta._..

The woman remembered all the times they had come here, arriving in the midst of someone's torture. It had at first been unsettling to say the least, but after just a few meetings Narcissa realized what a blessing it was if that person wasn't one that she knew or cared about. Tonight, however, she would have to endure the horrific scene of her own husband- the father of her unborn child- crippled with pain at the Dark Lord's feet. Perhaps she hadn't been grateful enough.

Lost in thoughts of fear and anxiety, she hardly noticed her husband's pace slow until he came to a complete stop a mere few feet away from the door, behind which the rest of the Death Eaters were likely already settled around the table with the Dark Lord at the head. The scream reached a painfully high pitch until it died completely.

"Narcissa, look at me," Lucius said. When her attention lingered on the door instead- horrified by the silence that followed the screams- he took her face in his large hands and forced her to look at him. "Are you listening? However the Dark Lord decides to punish me, I don't want you to watch it."

She wanted to question the request, but seeing as it was something she had already been planning on doing, it was all too easy to simply oblige and allow him to believe that it was for the sake of his pride rather than the sake of her sensitive stomach. "I won't," She promised.

Her husband pursed his lips as if he wanted to say more, but was interrupted by the large ebony clock at the end of the hall striking eleven o'clock. In a sudden hurry, Lucius grabbed her hand once more and walked the rest of the way to the door. Tardiness would only add to his list of mistakes.

"Lucius, you've come at last," Tom greeted, inclining his head to look at the couple. Ever so slightly, he nodded at the woman. "Narcissa."

 _Feverfew, Salsify, Periwinkle..._

"My Lord," Narcissa returned, bowing slightly before she was waved on with permission to go to her seat beside her sister. Her eyes watched her feet intently at they shuffled across the floor.

"You're late," Bellatrix whispered.

"We are not."

"Are too. He's going to kill him."

"Is _not_ ," The younger woman murmured, though she felt her mouth go dry at the words. She assured herself that there were people among them now who had done worse than Lucius, and yet they remained intact and breathing.

A sudden pressure in her stomach drew her attention away from the current situation, allowing the voices of the Dark Lord and her husband to fade into the background. She put a hand on her stomach and rubbed the spot the baby's foot had just kicked. _Everything's okay, Draco,_ She wanted to whisper to her son. _Daddy's okay._

Yet, even the sentimental and slightly nauseating movement in her stomach couldn't distract Narcissa from the sight of her husband falling to his knees in the corner of her eye. A soft gasp escaped her mouth. She knew it would happen during the meeting, but she was hardly expecting it to happen so quickly! Closing her eyes firmly, she reminded herself of her husband's request for his punishment to go unseen by his wife. When she opened her eyes again, she watched only the other Death Eaters around the table, whom watched the punishment as if it were a form of entertainment. And then, the screaming began.

At first, it didn't even sound like Lucius, but the woman knew it could be no one else. His painful screaming was worse than any way he had ever yelled at her before; worse than anything she had ever even _heard_ before. Each second it continued felt like daggers in her heart. The pain it felt to hear her love in pain must have been all too real because in just a moment the baby was kicking so ferociously inside of her that she feared something was wrong.

 _Angelica, Andryala, Columbine..._

Bella's words rang in her mind. ' _He's going to kill him...'_

"Please!" Narcissa suddenly shouted. Her outburst surprised Voldemort so that he dropped his wand back to his side, temporarily pausing Lucius's screams. Still, the blonde man laid crippled on the floor. "Please, stop," She continued, much meeker than before. "I beg of you to stop."

" _Cissy_!" Bellatrix whispered in an appalled manner.

Voldemort, however, seemed vaguely interested in the woman who, up until now, had sat quietly through the meetings. "You beg of me to stop what, my dear?"

"Stop torturing my husband," Narcissa answered. Fearful of disrespecting him further, she added, "Please, my Lord." She lowered her eyes to her lap respectfully, but the older wizard pursed his lips at the woman. "He will not disappoint you again."

"Boy or girl?" He asked, and as Narcissa looked up she saw that he was pointing his wand at her stomach. Protectively, she placed a hand over top of it.

"...Boy."

"You're lucky," Tom warned. "If it were a girl, I would kill it." His cold eyes met the woman's for a long moment as if to prove just how serious he was, until finally he turned away, pointing the end of his wand at Lucius again, who had just managed to lift his head to watch the scene unfold.

"Mr. Malfoy," Voldemort tsked, shooting a bright string of painful magic in the man's direction. The magic elicited a deep groan of pain as his body seemed to once again cave in on itself. "Perhaps you are just as bad at teaching your wife manners as you are at completing assignments."

Back at the table, Narcissa didn't dare to move or say another word. Instead, she squeezed her eyes tightly to hide the tears from Antonin Dolohov, who sat directly across the table and watched her with disgust. In attempt to steady her breathing and hopefully help calm the baby inside of her, she counted silently to herself until her husband's torture finally ended. _1, 2, 3... Wallflower, Vetch, Sea Rocket..._

Finally, everything went silent. A moment later, Lucius seemed to find his ability to breath again; taking in a breath so large he made himself cough and sputter on the hardwood floor. Narcissa opened her eyes.

"Let this serve as another lesson to you all: Do not disappoint. That is all for tonight. You may leave," Voldemort permitted. He sat back in his seat as the rest of the table stood and removed themselves from the room, all except Mrs. Malfoy. The woman rushed forward to help her husband from the floor, but as she came near him she seemed to grow hesitant.

"Lucius..." Narcissa whispered.

"Leave," The man demanded through gritted teeth. Crawling to the table for support, he pulled himself back to his feet. Still, his wife did not leave his side.

"Lucius, I'm sorry-"

"I said _leave_ , Narcissa!" He snapped. With tears pooling from her eyes, the young mother-to-be hurried from the room as fast as she could waddle. Just like that, the two wizards were left alone. "I apologize for my wife's outburst, my Lord. I warned her of what was going to happen-"

"I could have killed her," Voldemort said simply and slowly, as if considering a missed opportunity.

"I'm thankful you spared her, my Lord, and our unborn son."

"Yes... I should have killed her."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you all for reading! Another chapter will be coming soon but until then; constructive criticism, feedback, and suggestions for anything else you would like me to write about are welcomed and highly appreciated! Next chapter: Antonin Dolohov


	2. Antonin Dolohov

Antonin Dolohov

 _"One must always accept the Dark Lord's answer"_

A storm had settled overhead of the city of London, allowing day and night to blend into unreadable hours. The clouds created black and grey where there should have been blue and the street lights resembled the light of stars if one was standing far enough away. Though inconvenient for parties and outdoor activists, it was perhaps the perfect weather in which Lord Voldemort called upon his few followers. Not only did gloomy days call for gloomy business, but it would be all too easy for a man to claim that no one saw him that evening because the rain had trapped him inside his own home. _Even an idiot couldn't mess up a lie that simple._

Tom's follower count had remained steadily... Little since he began his cause just a few years ago. The circle was growing, but no where near the population at which he so desired. Of course, one perk that came with having such a small number of followers was the ability to keep track of them that much easier.

"Where is Antonin Dolohov?" Tom questioned, overlooking the others as he sat at the head of the table at which they gathered for every meeting.

Evan Rosier was the one who dared to speak up, just as Voldemort expected him to be. It was no secret that Rosier and Dolohov were good mates. He cleared his throat. "Antonin is unable to join us tonight, my Lord," He said. "He begs for your forgiveness-"

"He cannot have my forgiveness!" Tom barked. "Go to him now and tell him that I care not for his excuses!"

Evan glanced at the man quickly before looking back to his hands in his lap and Tom felt his lips purse tightly. He counted silently in his head: _1, 2, 3..._ "Antonin's wife died this morning, my Lord," said Evan. "She birthed a stillborn and bled to death. He's grieving."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the man's words. Antonin's wife was pregnant, he knew, but as far as his knowledge went, this was the first time the baby had waited until its birth to die. He clicked his tongue. Many times before he had urged Antonin to find a new wife; one who could successfully provide an heir, but the man always refused. Now, it seemed he would have no choice.

"Grieving or drinking? Tell him I expect him here next time," He said simply.

"Yes, my Lord."

The rest of the meeting went as planned; unfazed by the small hiccup of a missing member. Antonin's responsibilities were picked up by Evan upon the man's insistence and half of Evan's therefore fell upon Rodolphus, whose then fell to Rabastan, and then to Bellatrix, who never had any responsibilities to begin with.

Reassigning tasks went rather smoothly with such a eager group of followers, and yet Tom felt an unsettling pit of annoyance and... Worry? building in his stomach. His followers swore loyalty to him, but ultimately they were driven by their own selfish desires and pleasantries. Take Antonin, for example, whose trouble and grief could have been completely avoided by simply listening to his leader rather than his own corrupt feelings; or even Lucius, who had taken it upon himself to take a paternity leave.

It was hours after the meeting that Voldemort sat musing these things. As the storm raged on outside the walls of the building he had claimed as his own, a rumbling occurred somewhere far down the hall that could not be blamed on the thunder and lightening. No, this rumbling was of voices. Voices of two men, to be specific, who went back and forth as if in a game of aggression. With his hands folded over his lap, Tom waited patiently to see who would burst through the door to find him in the same seat as he was in hours ago, and was painfully indifferent when Antonin stumbled into the room, followed by a very sober Evan. The smell of alcohol was suddenly strong in the air.

Antonin dragged his feet across the floor, too frivolous in his drunkenness to even advert his eyes from Tom respectfully, and plopped directly to his knees just a few feet away from where the powerful wizard sat.

"Bring her back," He murmured.

"My apologies, my Lord," Said Evan from the doorway. "He insisted upon coming and I-"

"Leave us, Evan. Go home and give Ava my courtesies," Tom commanded coolly, watching the man as he nodded and turned to leave. At the mention of Evan's wife, Antonin let out a dry sob that brought his chest close to the floor. He clutched at his heart as if to rip it out.

"Bring her back!" He pleaded again. "Please, please... I'll do anything you ask of me. Just bring her back."

"Antonin, stand and compose yourself," Tom replied, looking with disgust at the man at his feet. "You know I have no such power to bring a person back from the dead."

" _You do! I know_ you do!" Antonin accosted. He broke into another sob, but brought himself shakily back to his feet and wiped whatever wetness he could away from his face. He leaned against the table for support. "Please," He croaked once more. "I know you can bring her back. Please, I'll do anything you ask of me."

"I can not bring her back, Antonin," Voldemort repeated. His tone was cool, yet he gritted his teeth as he spoke. "You will find another woman-" Antonin frantically began shaking his head, but he continued. "-A younger one, perhaps. One capable of producing an heir..."

"Don't talk about her like that!" Antonin dared to snap, his eyes widening as if in remembrance of who he was speaking to in such a tone. "She was... Perfect. You can bring her back."

"Antonin, I cannot."

"Please..."

The back and forth continued on for longer than the Dark Lord normally would have allowed. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the slightest bit of pity towards the grieving, drunken man and the fool he was making of himself. Finally, he stood from his chair and stepped around Antonin, who wobbled even while he was standing still.

"I will call Evan back to take you home, Antonin," He said. In the otherwise quiet room, it was almost possible to hear something snap inside the heartbroken man.

"After all the years I've given you, after everything I've done for you- all those times I should have been with her... You're weak!" Antonin exclaimed. "You're no lord of mine. A real lord would bring her back- would be _capable_ of such magic-"

Before Antonin could finish his sentence, he fell once more to his knees, his body seemingly caving in on himself as he screeched in pain. The breakdown this time was not due to the heartbreak he had endured earlier that day, but instead the stream of magic that came from the end of Voldemort's wand. Antonin had been too involved in his own words to even notice the wizard pull out his wand or shoot a curse in his direction, but he didn't have to hear anything to know that he was being tortured.

Long after Tom lowered his wand, Dolohov remained crippled on the floor, sobbing and groaning and begging to have Sarah back. Evan was summoned back to drag his friend away from Voldemort's sight; back to his own home or the closest pub or wherever else he desired.

"Evan?" Antonin just barely lifted his head when his friend came near.

"Yeah, it's me, mate. Are you ready to go home?"

"I can't go home if she's not there."

"That's okay," Evan assured him, seeming in a rush to simply get out of the Dark Lord's presence. "You can come back to my house and sleep in the guest bedroom."

"You have a baby," He stated dreadfully, another pathetic sob racking his chest.

"Nicholas sleeps through the night," Evan promised.

"What about Ava?"

"She sleeps through the night, too, mate."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you all for reading! Another chapter will be coming soon but until then; constructive criticism, feedback, and suggestions for anything else you would like me to write about are welcomed and highly appreciated! Next chapter: Rodolphus Lestrange


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